


Other People's Battles

by Fox



Category: Willow - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox/pseuds/Fox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man hangs in a crow's cage. The general does not set him free. What has brought these friends to this juncture? Ten years earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other People's Battles

**Author's Note:**

> I am not now, nor have I ever been, George Lucas.
> 
> Written for Vix for Yuletide 2007. Thanks to Ellen Fremedon, sanj, Di, merrycontrary, cmshaw, and TangleOfThorns for beta.

Martigan threw himself down on a couple of bales of straw and, when Airk didn't look up from his work, groaned and began elaborately stretching his shoulder.

"I saw you come in. You can save the performance."

"But I want you to feel sorry for me." Martigan leaned back on his other arm and watched Airk pitching straw into the stalls. He wished it was summer; Airk was much nicer to watch when his tunic was unlaced. Or, better yet, hanging from a post. "Wouldn't you think, with all the time we spend at it, that Prince Tualas's fighting would improve as well as mine?"

"It's not?"

Martigan waved a hand. "The swordmaster says the encouraging things he says, but before I came back down here he pulled me aside and said we'll have to change up my style. Go left-handed, or use a different weapon, or something, something unfamiliar -- so I can learn something new, and while I'm still working it out Tualas might have a chance of beating me." He hopped up and danced through a couple of moves with his left foot forward. He knew Airk had paused at least for a moment to watch him. Martigan leaned against a support beam and grinned. "He says I'm the best he's ever taught."

"Well, good for you. Just don't forget you're not the one he's teaching, really."

"I know I'm not. What's with you?"

Airk shrugged Martigan's hand off his shoulder. "Not you, for a start. You could help me do our actual job, you know, since you're obviously not too stiff to pick up a pitchfork."

"I am too stiff to pitch straw, since you mention it." Martigan waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh, shut up." Airk's lip twitched, the beginning of a smile.

Martigan was right up behind Airk, almost touching him. "You could help me instead."

"Martigan --"

He caught Airk's arm and slid two fingers into his mitten at the wrist. He wound his other arm around Airk's waist to hold him close; if it wasn't for the damned scarf, he could be breathing on Airk's neck and they'd already be halfway home. "Come on," he murmured. "Take a break."

Airk had tilted his head to the side; he'd say it was so he could hear better, because Martigan was speaking so softly, but Martigan knew he'd be pulling his scarf away in a minute. "No, we can't."

"Sure we can." Martigan held him tighter, pressed his body against Airk's back. There'd be no feeling him, through their winter layers, but he knew Airk's memory could supply the missing sensation. "How often do we get to do it while it's still light?" Airk relaxed just slightly. "Yeah. You know I keep my eyes open?" He pressed his body harder to Airk's, ran his hand down and over Airk's hip. "I like to look at you," he whispered. "I can't get enough of seeing your face when you're --"

Airk shook him off, turned around, grabbed him by the front of his coat, and had him up against the wall and a leg between his knees before Martigan could finish his thought. "You really are ..." he began. But rather than say what Martigan was, he leaned in and kissed him, hard, quickly, biting his lower lip, pulling away just as Martigan was opening his mouth. "Work first," he said. "Fucking after."

"I --"

"What if Koppan came in and found the work half-done?" Airk pointed out. "If we're quick about it, we can finish this and begin that before it gets dark." He leaned closer with a rough whisper of his own. "I'd rather hurry the work than hurry the fucking, wouldn't you?" Martigan didn't have the right leverage to insist on another kiss, and Airk pushed himself away, grabbed his pitchfork, and got back to work.

  
And he didn't hurry the fucking, Martigan had to give him that. It was still daylight when they reached the loft and Airk pulled him close, teeth bared, nostrils flaring, and ground their hips together hard enough that Martigan could feel it, even through all those layers. But it was dark before all their clothes were gone; and by the time they lay quietly, wrapped together in their heap of blankets, the night sky was full of stars.

* * *

"Where's Airk?" Ingen came running across the stable yard to where Martigan was filling the buckets at the well. "Is he gone already?"

"Left this morning. You need him for something?"

She looked at him, horrified. "This morning! And he didn't even say good-bye?"

Martigan hauled the second bucket up. "Well -- no," he admitted. "Be kind of strange if he had, wouldn't it?"

Ingen sat down on the woodblock. "I didn't think he'd go until the spring," she said.

"Well, the wagon team needed re-shoeing. Can't leave that for a whole season, can we."

Ingen blinked and stared. "He's gone to the smithy?"

Martigan looked at her. If he hadn't been so confused by the way the conversation was going, he'd have laughed at how confused she looked. "Yes, and the market. Where did you think he was going?"

She cocked her head at him. "He hasn't talked to you?" she said. "Recently? About ... anything?" Martigan set down the third full bucket and folded his arms. "Oh, Ingen, you idiot," she muttered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." She bit her lip. "Sorry?"

Martigan clenched his jaw a couple of times, shut his eyes, opened them again. "Nah, don't be sorry, kid," he said. "Airk, he'll be sorry, but you're -- don't worry about it." He waved it away. "Want to give me a hand with these buckets?"

"Sure." She gave him a grateful smile, stood up, pressed a hand to her forehead, and staggered; Martigan caught her before she fell. "Fuck."

"Ingen?"

"It's nothing. Shall I take one end of the yoke?"

"Like hell it's nothing. Sit." He sat her back down, poured one bucket of water back into the well, turned the bucket upside down, and sat on it facing her. "Talk."

She scowled at him and looked away. Then she sighed and looked at her knees. "On the other hand, it might help to have someone else know about it," she said, apparently to herself. "Whole world will know soon enough." She looked back at him. "I'm carrying a child," she said.

It was such unexpected news that Martigan actually looked around for a baby before he got it. "Wow," he said. "Are -- wow. Are you -- do you --" He stopped and looked at her. "Who?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. "Why?" she asked.

"I'm just curious."

"I bet." She reached for his hand; he gave her both. "Don't worry about it. Only, when I'm a little dizzy, that's why."

"And when you puff up and Koppan goes on the warpath?"

"My father, my problem. Don't worry about it, I said. Now. Shall I take one end of the yoke, once you refill that bucket?"

  
"Hey, Airk?" Martigan carded his fingers through Airk's hair.

Airk stirred sleepily. "Hmm?"

Martigan looked at the ceiling. He still wasn't sure what he was even going to say -- Why does Ingen think you're leaving? Where does she think you're going? What does she think she knows that I don't?

Is it true?

That was really the question, wasn't it, and it wasn't a question he wanted to ask now. If Airk was leaving for some reason, Martigan didn't want to talk about it, nor talk about why -- not when they were lying warm and peacefully in each other's arms.

Airk shifted again. "Hmm, wha."

Martigan kept stroking his hair and held him tighter. "Nothing."

* * *

Tualas defeated Martigan at their next bout. "Nicely done, your highness."

"Knew I'd get one eventually, eh, Martigan?" Tualas smiled and punched Martigan's arm. "Practice pays off."

Martigan shared a glance with the swordmaster as Tualas walked with him to the door. "Looks that way, yes, sir."

"You should practise more. Get that friend of yours to spar with you -- he could use the practice as well."

"He doesn't -- we're not overloaded with free time, your highness."

"No, I suppose not, between the responsibilities of tending the horses and tending the horsemaster's daughter." Martigan kept his head down. "It's a big job. You do fine work."

"Which job do you mean, your highness?"

"Oh, both, both." Tualas chuckled. He probably winked. "She's a beautiful girl. And spirited. Must need more than one man to look after her, mustn't she?"

"I wouldn't know, your highness. I --" Martigan stopped short and looked sharply at the prince. "-- suppose she must," he finished.

"Well, back down to the stables with you." Tualas clapped Martigan on the shoulder. "See you next time. And be sure to practise!"

"Yes, sir." Martigan bowed. "Well fought today."

  
He found Ingen in the tack room, braiding cord. "My father and Airk went down to the villages." She didn't look up. "Something about a horse with an arrow in its flank."

"Prince Tualas?"

"Probably still up at the castle. Didn't you just come from --" She paused, looked up at him, looked back at her work, shook her head. "Well, aren't you clever. How did you work it out?"

"Suppose he told me?" She scoffed. "He knows, though."

"I did tell him, yes." She cleared her throat. "He didn't believe me." She brushed hastily at her eye with her knuckles and went right back to her braiding.

Martigan pretended he hadn't seen this. He leaned against the worktable and looked at her. "Why would he think you'd make up a story about being --"

"No, stupid, he didn't believe it's his." She put her cord down and folded her arms. "So I'm pretty sure he didn't bring it up."

Martigan narrowed his eyes. "I wouldn't count on it. He did say he figured Airk and I had our hands full between the job and you. That you were work enough for more than one man." He clenched his fists and wished there was something nearby that he could break.

The colour had drained from Ingen's face. "I told him I hadn't told anyone," she whispered. She covered her belly with her hands, as though by holding them there she could stop its eventual swelling. "How could I not have seen this coming?"

"I wouldn't have thought he was smart enough to be that -- scheming," Martigan said.

A single column of tears ran from each eye. Ingen paid them no notice. "I hadn't told anyone," she said again. Her voice was flat, dazed-sounding. "Do you have any idea how bad this is?"

"It won't be --"

"Of course it will." She turned on him angrily. "I never said a word, so he hasn't had to bother with a defence. I could have been the woman carrying the prince's child that he wouldn't acknowledge, poor thing, sympathy on my side, all the world knows the truth even if he never admits it. But now --" Her voice finally wavered, just a little -- "now, I'll be that girl who doesn't know who fathered her child and figured she'd try to pin it on his royal highness."

"But you know. You do know."

She made an exasperated sound and swiped at her eyes with one hand. "Martigan, have you and I ever fucked?"

"No."

"Prove it."

* * *

It was long past nightfall when Airk returned. He hauled himself wearily up through the hatch and crawled a little way in from the ladder. Martigan sat up when he stopped moving. "Airk?"

"A minute." His voice was hoarse and his breathing was laboured. Martigan crawled over to him. "Easy, easy," Airk said. "Just -- got to move carefully." He started toward their pile of blankets, crawling with a bit of a limp, favoring his left leg.

Martigan arranged the blankets into a sort of nest for Airk to rest on. "What happened? Is it just that leg?"

"I'm fine." Airk hissed as he shifted position. "It's not bad. Leg. Some bruises." He yawned and shivered a little. Martigan draped a couple more blankets over him. "Koppan is worse. He couldn't walk, couldn't ride. Had to carry him with me."

"Is he --"

Airk yawned again and waved a hand. "He'll be all right. Took him home. Woke Ingen." He shivered harder. "Sorry I woke you."

"Don't be stupid," Martigan said -- but Airk was already asleep. Martigan tucked the blankets around his shoulders, pulled another one over them both, and curled his body as close to Airk as he could.

  
Airk's muttered curses woke him in the morning. Martigan blinked twice and sat up on one hip. "You all right?"

"Just my fucking leg. Stiffened up. It'll be fine if I can walk it off -- help me stand up."

Martigan did. From the way Airk flinched, Martigan figured he'd also wrenched his shoulder and bruised his ribs, at the very least. "So what happened? Ingen just said there was a horse --"

"Skirmish." Airk paced slowly around the loft. "Came up while we were out there. Those villages need much stronger defences."

"Raiders?"

Airk raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. "Maybe raiders. Seemed more like scouts, though."

Martigan was stunned. "You think someone's trying to invade?"

"Only one of them got away, so at least it'll be a while before they try again. Ow -- no, it's fine."

"But they will be back."

"Eventually."

"You should have sent someone up here for reinforcements."

"We _were_ the reinforcements. This was all the way -- nobody could have got up here and back again, even if there'd been anyone to spare. I wasn't kidding about the villages needing better defences." He leaned carefully against the railing. "Martigan. I'm going."

Martigan leaned against the post opposite him. "Going where?"

"Into -- I'm joining the army."

"Why in the world would you do that?"

"Come on, I'm not going to tend someone's horses for the rest of my life. This is a chance to actually make a difference."

Martigan looked at Airk, bewildered, and then in an instant half a dozen inexplicable things made sense. "This is what Ingen meant when she thought you'd gone away," he said. Airk looked confused, but Martigan understood everything. Now he was the one pacing. "And Tualas, the other day, he said I should spar with you because you need the practice. This is what they were both talking about, isn't it, you joining the army."

"I suppose it must be. But --"

"The next thing you say had better be But let me tell you why I told them before I even said anything to you? Because --"

"Martigan --" Airk followed him unsteadily.

"-- it seems like if you decided to leave me with the whole job to myself, you might have brought it up some time --"

"I didn't tell Ingen." Martigan glared at Airk and continued stalking back and forth. "Koppan must have mentioned it to her. I had to talk to him and see if he'd let me go before my seven years." Airk leaned against the post, taking the weight off his injured leg. "And the prince recommended me to the king for a commission." He grabbed at Martigan's arm as he went by. "I was hoping he'd offer you one too."

"I wouldn't take it if he did." Martigan yanked his arm away and grabbed Airk's instead. "You think I want to spend the rest of my life going where I'm told and fighting other people's battles? You think that's how you're going to make your difference?"

"It's a lot less going where you're told than we get here. I can serve Galladoorn better as captain of a company than as a co-apprentice straw-pitcher. And so could you -- you know you're the best swordsman we've --"

"I'm a fighter, Airk, but I'm no soldier. Especially not in an army led by Prince Tualas, of all the --" He stopped, took a deep breath, got a hold of himself. "Don't think I'll be here forever, either. When my time's up, you won't see me for dust."

"Take off, will you? Any point in asking when you were going to let me know about this?" Airk folded his arms. "Since you're so affronted at my failure to tell you about my plans, you must have had intentions of telling me about yours."

"It's over a year from now! Don't give me that turnabout shit -- what are you, a woman?"

"The point is --"

"The point is, I'm not joining any man's army, but you want to, which I think is the most idiotic decision you've ever made, but what the hell, I can't stop you. So I'll be doing two men's work on my own. Lucky for me you've got that bad leg, so I can get some practice." And he was down through the hatch and hefting the feedbag from stall to stall before Airk had got halfway down the ladder.

* * *

That first night after Airk told him he was leaving, Martigan sorted the blankets into two stacks. He was slightly uncomfortable with himself for making such a petulant show of his displeasure with Airk, but he was more than slightly angry with Airk, so he divided the blankets. He took most of the soft ones for himself, but he left the softest and warmest one for Airk along with the scratchy ones he'd given him. He heard Airk say his name when he came up to the loft and found half the blankets waiting for him and Martigan wrapped up by himself, not intending to share -- but Martigan shut his eyes tighter and pretended to be asleep, and eventually Airk lay down away from him.

It took many weeks for Koppan to recover from his wounds. During that time, Martigan and Airk did as much of his work as they could in addition to their own (an added bonus of which was that Martigan had no time to spare for sparring with the prince) every day and retired exhausted to their loft at night. Gradually, though neither spoke of it, they drifted closer and closer before they slept -- first on the same side of the platform; three nights later almost within arm's reach; soon close enough to hear each other's breathing; then side by side, albeit with the blankets still between them. Finally, one night, Airk shifted and Martigan rolled over and they were back in each other's arms; Martigan pushed his face into the curve of Airk's neck and slept better than he had in ages.

They didn't fuck. They didn't even really undress much. But now each night they pressed together, feeling each other's skin, breathing each other's air, and they hadn't talked any more about Airk and the army, but still, it was better. Until the morning they were brushing the queen's palfrey and Koppan came in, leaning on a stick, with a face like thunder, and demanded to know which of them was the father of Ingen's child.

Airk was plainly astonished by everything about the question. He gasped, dropped the brush, picked it up again, stammered, turned and looked to share a shocked look with Martigan --

\-- and that was really the moment it was all over, Martigan realised later. He was surprised, too, that Koppan suspected either of them could be responsible; but he wasn't surprised to learn that Ingen was pregnant, and even if Koppan was fooled, there was no fooling Airk.

They both swore on their lives that they'd never so much as looked twice at Ingen. Koppan didn't have anything dire enough to threaten them with to get them to change their story, and he stormed out, still fuming, presumably to scream at her. Martigan hoped the screaming would make Koppan feel better, because he knew there was no chance Ingen would speak. Not for the first time, he wished he could catch the prince by the throat and make him tell the truth.

Martigan and Airk finished brushing the queen's horse in silence. No sooner had they closed its stall door than Airk spun around and punched Martigan in the jaw. "Ow -- shit, Airk, hold on, let me ex--"

"Shut up." Airk tackled him, and fuck, the frozen ground was hard. "Shut your mouth right now. I ought to let the horses trample you into the dirt."

"It's not --" Martigan struggled, but Airk was bigger, so every time he rolled him over, he got rolled back.

"Not what I think? I think half the times you've said you were going up to fencing practice, you were going to practise your swordplay with the boss's daughter instead. Maybe all the times. I should have realized when I said I was joining the army and you were angry because you'd have _more work to do_. You can fuck her at midday and fuck me that same night, and probably have us both believing you want us as much as you say. You are some liar, Martigan."

"Will you listen? I'm not lying. I never --"

"I know, you never promised me anything. My fault for assuming there was anything more to this than --" Airk cut himself off and shoved Martigan's shoulders down to the floor. "You lying son of a filthy whore," he said, his voice low and cold. He got up, straightened his tunic, and did not offer Martigan a hand. Martigan propped himself up on his elbows to watch him go.

  
Martigan didn't call Prince Tualas a son of a filthy whore, of course, but he did go up and win a bout so he could hold the prince at the point of a sword and curse him to the depths for what he'd done.

To his dismay, Tualas was not at all cowed. He made a face that was half smile, half sneer. "You may beat me in the practice ring, Martigan, but I assure you I have weapons other than the sword. And unlike yourself, I will never be so generous as to let you win." He pushed Martigan's blade away with his bare hand. "If that's all you've come for today, get out of my hall."

* * *

"You told me not to worry about your father. I remember. It was right out there by the well, and you said --"

"I was there, Martigan. I know what I said." Ingen didn't look up from the saddle blanket she was patching. "Do you also remember that a lot of things have changed since then? I didn't know the prince was going to fill the world with rumours about me, did I, and I certainly didn't know my father was going to believe them."

"He thinks that child belongs to one of us."

"Yes, I know."

"And Airk thinks it belongs to me."

"So I heard."

"Well -- what am I going to do?"

Ingen looked up at him sideways. "What are _you_ going to do?" She broke her thread, set the blanket aside, and picked up the next one. "I don't know what you're going to do, Martigan. Let me give that some serious thought."

All right, that had been the wrong thing to say. "I'm sorry."

"You're suspected of siring a child on your boss's daughter, and your --" she raised an eyebrow -- "best friend is furious with you and about to go off to war. That sum it up?" He nodded. "Or is it that you're with child by a man who refuses to concede he's ever laid a finger on you, who is instead nominating more or less every man in the castle grounds, bringing just --" she smiled bitterly -- "_loads_ of honour on your father, who refuses to be in the same room with you, and suspects your best friends, one of whom is angry at you because the other, his lover, who won't speak to you, won't speak to him."

"No," Martigan said carefully, "that sounds worse. Mine is the first thing."

"Oh, good. I win." Ingen tore a patch off the scrap and started on the second blanket.

He sat down next to her. "Koppan won't even look at you?"

"I won't point my finger at either you or Airk. When I say I can't tell him who the child's father is, he hears that I don't know who the child's father is, which is an idea he can't stand." She shrugged one shoulder bravely. "Hopefully he'll revise his position when he sees his grandchild, if he hasn't before then."

"Why don't you tell him it's the prince? He'd believe you, wouldn't he?"

"Either he wouldn't, which would change nothing, or he would -- and if he did, either he would challenge the prince and be thrown out, or he would refuse to serve here any longer and leave. Which would have us both -- us all, soon -- out in the cold with no living and no prospects."

"You don't think he'll throw you out?"

"Hasn't yet. And I'm better off if he has a place he could throw me out of than I would be if he didn't."

Martigan put his arm around her and squeezed. To his surprise, she leaned toward him and laid her head on his shoulder; he rested his cheek on the top of her head as she carried on with her mending.

  
And of course that night Martigan found that Airk had taken the soft blankets and left him the coarse ones. Turnabout again; if he didn't know better, he'd swear Airk was a girl, barely out of pigtails, keeping careful track of who had done this and who had done that and who owed what to whom. He arranged his bedding where Airk had left it, a few steps from where he was sleeping himself -- no point in stalking off to the other end of the loft -- and lay awake, trying to think of some way to get them all out of the mess they were in.

So he could hear the change in Airk's breaths when he woke up, and could hear Airk crawl over to his side. He turned his head and was about to speak, but Airk clamped a hand over his mouth and pulled off his blankets and shoved most of his clothes out of the way as well. Martigan tried to speak -- but his "Airk?" that sounded like "rrrk" turned into a muffled shout when Airk leaned down and bit one of his nipples, none too gently.

Airk licked at his chest roughly, scraped at Martigan's skin with his teeth and his beard, and bit some more, and after about two seconds of startled surprise Martigan was hard and aching for him. Airk's one hand was still over his mouth, but his other was curled over Martigan's side, between his ribs and his hip. Martigan grabbed Airk's wrist and shoved and squirmed and tried to get that hand down to his cock, but Airk held him down and bit and scratched until Martigan whimpered .

He went readily when Airk pushed him over onto his front and bit at his shoulderblades, one big hand on the small of his back; Airk obviously didn't want him too noisy, so Martigan pressed his fist to his mouth. And then he felt Airk tug away his leggings, and heard him shove down his own, and heard him spit in his hand, and hold on, shit, that was all the setup he got before Airk was pressing at him, pressing into him, and Martigan fought his way up to his knees and braced himself on his elbows, but he bit his own hand to keep from crying out.

They didn't normally fuck back-to-front, and they'd almost never done it this rough. Airk didn't say anything; he kept his hands on Martigan's hips and drove into him, steadily, not fast, and when Martigan reached for his own cock Airk swatted his hand away and stopped moving. Martigan made a frustrated sound and leaned back down on both arms, and after a few moments Airk leaned over him, over his back, his hands near Martigan's shoulders, and started fucking him again.

Faster, now, but not as deep. Martigan could hear Airk's breath speed up, above him. He gritted his teeth and arched his back up, tried to get his spine up near Airk's body. Airk moved one hand to his shoulder and kept fucking him, hard, and then suddenly in one motion Airk wound an arm around Martigan's chest and pulled him up, sat back on his heels and pulled Martigan back with him. Each threw an arm up to brace a hand against the post, so they wouldn't pitch forward; Airk had Martigan's other hand pinned to his side, so Martigan couldn't touch his cock, couldn't reach back and get his fingers in Airk's hair, couldn't do anything. When he tried to use his other hand, Airk grabbed his wrist, and the angles were all wrong for Martigan to be able to pull free; all he could do was tip his head back and shut his eyes.

Airk was close; Martigan could tell by the way he trembled. He could feel Airk's breath on the back of his neck, and then he could hear Airk's soft, low groan as he came. Martigan was finally able to tug his arm away, and although it was his wrong hand, he was desperate enough that it only took a couple of strokes, and Airk's hand on his belly, and he came almost as hard as Airk had done. They slumped down to the blankets and lay together for the length of about six heaving breaths; then Airk pushed Martigan away, pulled his clothing back into place, and went back to his own blankets and huddled up to go back to sleep.

Martigan lay catching his breath, sticky, sore, still feeling Airk's teeth and tongue and beard and cock. He looked through the darkness at the darker lump that was Airk in his bundle of bedding, sleeping alone, not holding him. "Fuck," he whispered to himself, when he realized what his plan was going to have to be.

* * *

Ingen's rationale had made sense to Martigan when she explained why it was safer not to tell Koppan that Prince Tualas was her baby's father. He understood now that he also couldn't tell Airk, for the same basic reasons. There was a chance Airk might not believe him. But if Airk believed him, one of three things would happen. Airk might resign his commission and finish his service with Koppan followed by a life of who knows what; or he might threaten the prince and lose his commission and his position with Koppan as well; or he might clench his fists and serve in the army under a prince he despised. In any case, even though Airk believed Martigan, most others would likely believe the prince, so Airk would have little hope of success whichever of these options he chose.

No, the whole plan depended on nobody knowing the truth. Nobody but Martigan, of course. Well -- and Ingen. And Tualas, but he was the one who'd have to live with himself. Martigan sat up most of the night making sure he had it all worked out in his mind. He'd tell Ingen; it wouldn't do for her to be surprised. She'd try to talk him out of it, she'd tell him he was mad, but she'd see that this was the only way for her and her father, and Airk, to survive. Martigan would be all right out there in the world. It was where he was going anyway -- only now he was going sooner, and alone. Airk would have done the same, he was sure -- and not told him about it, either -- if their situations had been reversed.

So he'd tell Ingen. And then he'd go up to the castle and challenge the prince to a match. He'd fight left-handed, and the prince would disarm him, and he would punch him in the jaw just as Airk had done to him the previous day. He'd be banished, of course. And when he went to collect his few belongings, he would confess to Koppan that he was the father of Ingen's child, and he would take her, but they would have to leave and never return. Koppan would forbid this, and Martigan would go -- but Koppan would keep his position, Airk would keep his commission, and Ingen and her fatherless child would keep their honour.

Martigan took a deep breath. It was just barely dawn. He crept over to where Airk slept and, careful not to wake him, leaned over and kissed his mouth. Airk stirred and parted his lips; Martigan struggled against the impulse to deepen the kiss, which would surely bring Airk out of sleep and end in disaster. He drew back slowly and looked at Airk for one more long moment, then turned and climbed silently down the ladder.

**Author's Note:**

> This was deceptively hard, probably because the source was written by George Lucas and therefore there's precious little to build on; bless his heart, any depth his characters have, the actors brought with them. So, you know, it's not that I can't come up with backstory on my own [note: there is apparently more backstory in some novelization or other, as well as earlier drafts of the screenplay, but we know how I feel about the canonicity of that sort of thing, right? of course right.], but that's two jobs in one, man.


End file.
